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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849414">The Name of the Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulquii/pseuds/Ulqueleh'>Ulqueleh (Ulquii)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Boys AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - The Boys (TV 2019) Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Civil Keith (Voltron), Dark Super Heros, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Krolia (Voltron), Revelations, Secret Identity, Shiro (Voltron) has powers, Super Hero Shiro (Voltron), Superpowers, This isn't as dark as the actual The Boys, To Be Continued, but gosh, i love it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulquii/pseuds/Ulqueleh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Black Lion is the best Super Hero in the city.  </p><p>But Keith knows just to hate him. </p><p>There’s not exactly a reason —he has never seen Black Lion do something wrong. He’s always careful and kind with people, and incredibly sweet with children. He’s meticulous with his ways of stopping bad guys and saving the people, and always keeps collateral damage to the minimum. </p><p>But Keith hates him, the same way he hates every Super that appears on TV and has their merchandise. Because he knows everything is just a charade and none of them actually care for the people. </p><p>—Or the one where Keith hates Black Lion but does he though?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Boys AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Name of the Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, I was thinking on doing this very short but now it's 7.7k and I almost reach my 250k word count, lmao</p><p>Still, I'm very proud of this, I hope I did a good job handling this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Black Lion is the best Super Hero in the city.</p><p>But Keith knows just to hate him.</p><p>There’s not exactly a reason —he has never seen Black Lion do something wrong. He’s always careful and kind with people, and incredibly sweet with children. He’s meticulous with his ways of stopping bad guys and saving the people, and always keeps collateral damage to the minimum.</p><p>But Keith hates him, the same way he hates every Super that appears on TV and has their merchandise. Because he knows everything is just a charade and none of them actually care for the people.</p><p>They care about how people view them and how people like them. They care about their reputations and the sales of their products, and how much they smile at the cameras and hug people and kiss babies. But none of them care for the people.</p><p>They don’t care the same way Fire Blast didn’t care when she set his childhood home on fire. She didn’t care she left a kid without a father, a place he could call home and stuff he could call his own.</p><p>She never cared. She only pretended to care, just to not lose credibility in front of the public, when she apologized on national TV and pretended to mourn beside Keith.</p><p>So, when he grows up, he’s skeptical to believe that Supers are actually good people. He has been careful and open-minded enough to see how some of them wipe their hands in their clothes after giving a handshake to a civil, or how they slightly grimace when they have to deal with children. </p><p>And when Black Lion comes into the light as part of the Five, Keith wants to believe he’s the same. He wants to hate him too. </p><p>So he does. And he pointedly ignores the way his stomach flutters every time he sees him on TV, smiling so wholeheartedly.</p><p>“For someone who hates Supers so much, you come here a lot.” </p><p>He shrugs, taking a sip from his beer. </p><p>“I don’t come here for them,” he comments, because it’s true. </p><p>Lance narrows his eyes at him, as if he could see the lie in it. </p><p>“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, “You shouldn’t even be allowed here.” </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>Lance jumps startlingly at Kolivan’s deep voice, and Keith snickers. </p><p>“Yes, sir?” Lance asks, hands on his back and head down. Keith rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Shouldn’t you be serving customers?” Kolivan asks. </p><p>Lance nods sharply, retiring from Keith’s side with a quiet ‘yessir.’ </p><p>And finally Keith has some peace to drink. Or so he thought. </p><p>“Kit,” Kolivan pronounces, heavy accent from somewhere on the other side of the world making his name sound like a completely different word. </p><p>“Kolivan,” he answers, trying to mock the tone.  </p><p>Kolivan doesn’t even flinch a smile. Instead, he takes a glass and starts wiping it from water stains. </p><p>“Lance has a point,” he says, which, wow, is Kolivan really saying Lance is right? “This bar is exclusive for Supers and their personal. You shouldn’t be here.” </p><p>Keith feels his brow raise to his hairline. </p><p>“Woah, really?” he asks, frowning, and Kolivan shrugs. </p><p>“It’s a risk if I keep letting you in without a badge, even if you’re my nephew,” he explains, “If word comes out about what the Supers do inside this establishment, we’ll both be dead.” </p><p>Keith scoffs. </p><p>“And why me?” he asks “You know I wouldn’t say a word about what happens in here.” </p><p>Kolivan stares at him, and Keith resists the urge to laugh. He knows Kolivan is trying to scare him with his eyes, but Keith has seen the man in his worst, and there’s no way he’s going to scare Keith the same way he scares his employees. Lance in specific. </p><p>“Anyways,” Keith continues, making a gesture over to the cubicle behind him with the side of his head, “Who would believe me?” </p><p>Kolivan looks over his shoulder, to where Keith is sure Lance is over Galra Prince’s lap, sighing out praise and moans. Kolivan rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Okay,” Kolivan says, tapping the now clean glass in the counter and giving Keith a stare-down contest with a glare, “But you can’t spend every night here like you’re waiting for something —or <em>someone</em> in specific, to walk in that door. You’re not allowed to snoop on my clients.” </p><p>Keith blushes against his will, shaking his head. </p><p>“Wait, what are you talking about?” he asks, frown deep in his brow, and Kolivan narrows his eyes. This time, though, Keith’s not sure he can hide behind that lie. </p><p>“He hasn’t been here and you know it,” Kolivan says, “He’s not like the rest of them.” </p><p>Keith bites his lower lip and looks away, “I don’t know about that.” </p><p>“And you never will,” Kolivan concludes, giving a gesture to the door, “Now go home before your mom worries.” </p><p>Keith scoffs, but has the survival instinct to do until Kolivan is out of earshot. He shakes his bottle of beer slightly to see how much it's still inside, and figures he can take his time to nurse it until Kolivan comes back to kick his ass out. </p><p>He doesn't understand his accusation. It's not like Keith is obsessed with Black Lion. Of course, he had been surprised, almost shocked, that he's the only one who no one sees smoke or drink, even less attending a bar that it's precisely for the Supers let loose. But it's not like he's been waiting for him to show up and be a bad person, the same way most of them are because they are humans and have their own sins. It's not like Keith <em>likes</em> to spend his nights surrounded by drunk and high Supers doing whatever the fuck they want. </p><p>For him, they always do whatever they like, so having them have fun in unhealthy ways isn't as surprising as it would be for the people who idolizes them. </p><p>And Lance might be right in one thing, Keith <em>does</em> come here for the Supers, but not in the way most people would. Seating there, in the barstool, while Supers drink their asses off, get high enough to overdose, and fuck anywhere they can because they <em>can</em> in this kind of place just helps Keith remind himself that there is no such thing as a perfect Super. </p><p>They're just people, with human urges and superhuman abilities. They're not as different as Keith himself. </p><p>But, of course, Black Lion is different. Of course, he doesn’t drink or smoke or goes out in Saturday nights to have nasty fun with his nasty friends. Of course, he is as perfect as everyone else thinks. </p><p>“Or a complete asshole,” Keith murmurs against the mouth of his beer, taking another sip. </p><p>Just as he said he would, he takes his time to finish his beer, and then he stands up, leaving the payment with Antok, now at the other side of the bar and leaning over it because he's <em>huge</em> and then he walks to the door, ignoring how some of the Super try to flirt with him. </p><p>It's almost 2 a.m. and the chill from the winter it's already shaking Keith's bones. He holds his jacket closer to his body and buries half of his face in the red scarf Lance's mom gave him for Christmas last year, and then he just starts lazily walking to his apartment. </p><p>It maybe had been the hour, or how carefree Keith was walking through dark alleys he knew like the back of his palm, despite how against it his mother was, but then there’s a man pushing away from the wall he’s leaning on and putting himself in Keith’s path. It would make him feel unsafe if it didn’t bother him so much in the first place. </p><p>“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurs when Keith goes past him without a care, starting to follow his steps, “Got some pocket money to spare for cigarettes?” </p><p>Keith sighs heavily. He really doesn’t want to engage with a drunkard, but he doesn’t seem to be wanting to leave him alone. </p><p>“Heeeeey, babyyyy,” the man keeps calling for him and keeps <em>following him</em>, “Don’t you hear me? Don’t be so uptight! Do you have some money you can give me or not?” </p><p>“Not really,” he ends up saying, to which he hits himself mentally. </p><p>“Oh, so you <em>do</em> hear me!” </p><p>The man skips a couple of steps to reach him, and Keith shrugs off the hand that falls on his shoulder. </p><p>“Come on, just a couple of dollars,” he insists, too close for Keith’s comfort, “Oh, wow. You’re pretty.” </p><p>Keith feels bile churning up his throat. </p><p>“Excuse me?” he says, turning to the drunkard, and then realizes his mistake. </p><p>“Maybe you could spare time with me instead?” The man proposes, walking into Keith’s personal space and hand now trying to reach for Keith’s hip. Keith swats it away, “Oh, fierce!” </p><p>“Stop following me,” Keith demands, but the man doesn’t stop trying to get his hands on him, “Hey! Stop touching-” </p><p>“But we’re having a good time, babe,” the drunkard chuckles, somehow cornering Keith against the wall, “Let’s have fun for a bit.” </p><p>“Let go,” Keith hisses, trying to free himself, but the man’s grip in his arms is stronger, “Stop it!” </p><p>“Come on, I’ll make you feel good-” </p><p>“The guy said no.” </p><p>Keith freezes, feeling the attacker go still, and when they both look over the end of the alley, there’s another person standing in the dark with them. The man huffs against Keith’s face and Keith tries not to gag with the stench of alcohol in his breath. </p><p>“Don’t worry, pal,” he says, pulling away from Keith with a charade of innocence. Keith realizes then that he’s shaking and in the edge of tears, “We’re all friends here.” </p><p>“I don’t think that’s the issue here,” the dark silhouette days, starting to walk towards them, “If he said no, you don’t have any right to touch him.” </p><p>The drunkard scoffs like it’s a joke, like it’s not some human decency to not touch someone who doesn’t want it, and Keith feels himself shiver, afraid of what could’ve been of him. </p><p>“He’s just being a little bitchy,” the man laughs, hand once again reaching for Keith, “He likes this kind of games, don’t you, boy?” </p><p>Keith’s eyes glare at the hand going towards him. </p><p>“D-don’t-” he’s about to demand, voice shaky and knees starting to lose strength, “You <em>dare</em>-” </p><p>But then there’s a hand on the man’s forearm, holding him away from Keith. </p><p>“The guy said no,” the other man says, body now between the drunkard and Keith when just a second ago was standing feet away from them, “Walk away or you will regret it.” </p><p>Keith feels tiny and weak when the drunkard just laughs, a gross loud cackle that Keith knows will haunt him in his nightmares for months. </p><p>“Regret it?” the drunk says, shoving from his grip and trying to push him off, but the dark man doesn’t move an inch, “Or what would you do? Punch me?” </p><p>“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” </p><p>It happened so fast Keith thinks he imagined the man in front of him move —barely a tilt of his frame the only thing he could perceive— but suddenly the drunkard is falling onto his back, neck arched to the sky and blood falling from his nose and mouth. </p><p>The drunk falls to the floor, clutching his face while he screams, and Keith stares at him, not believing what just happened. </p><p>“Are you okay?” </p><p>The voice is soft when it’s directed to him, and he looks up to the man’s eyes. They’re light gray even under the shadow of the alley and the longer bangs of his black, otherwise-short hair look soft to the touch, different from his own wiry hair. He’s a lot taller than him —not a surprise since Keith’s always been smaller than most— and his large frame covers him from the blinking light in the corner of the alley.  </p><p>“I-” he tries, looking back to the man still screaming in the ground, blood falling through his fingers, and then up to his eyes again, “Y-yeah, thanks.” </p><p>The man smiles, and Keith gets breathless with just that. </p><p>“A pleasure to be of help.” </p><p>Keith swallows, really not believing such a hot, gentle-mannered man actually saved his ass —<em>literally</em>—from a stupid drunkard. He is pretty sure this is all a delirious dream after probably smacking his head against the counter of Kolivan’s bar after a couple of drinks too many. Or maybe the drunk has him in the back of the alley, drugged and delirious while he does what he pleases with his unresponsive body. </p><p>Keith doesn’t know, but he sure is grateful. </p><p>“Hey, asshole!” </p><p>Keith frowns, looking to the other side of the alley, where the shadows are thick and only some lights from the back of buildings illuminate too faintly. He feels his blood drain from his face and all his body when he sees a group of at least five people going towards them, not looking at all friendly. </p><p>“Oh, no,” Keith breathes, feeling his knees buckle under his weight, and he clutches his savior’s arm, “We should go.” </p><p>But instead of letting himself be pulled to safety, the man stays standing there, not even swaying with Keith’s pull. </p><p>“Hey,” Keith insists, squeezing his arm when the man just stares at the mob coming to them, and <em>oh god those biceps</em>, “We have to go!” </p><p>But the man just looked over Keith with a smile, and Keith froze in there. Does he really not understand they could both die from the angry mob? </p><p>“Patience yields focus,” he says suddenly, and Keith feels his stomach drop. </p><p>Wait, that phrase- </p><p>“Hey, <em>asshole</em>!” one of the group repeats, now too close for them to run for it. To Keith’s hysteria, the man steps closer to them. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>Keith closes his eyes, looking away from them and clutching the man’s arms as if it was the only thing that could keep him anchored. Safe. </p><p>“That guy you just punched is my buddy!” one exclaims and Keith feels his hands trembling without control when the man just hums. </p><p>“Well, your buddy almost sexually assaults my friend,” the man muses, but the group don’t see even a little bit sorry about it. </p><p>“Maybe your friend shouldn’t be such a bitch, then,” another one accuses, and Keith feels all his blood run cold, his attempts of tugging the man away vanishing completely. </p><p>“No one is excused to sexually assault someone, sir, regardless of their job.” </p><p>And while that eases down the fear on Keith, knowing that the man who is protecting him is at least a decent human being, the way the mob looks very displeased by his response makes him short of breath. </p><p>“H-hey,” he tries again, but the man is unmovable. </p><p>“Why don’t you say that to my face?” one of them demands, approaching dangerously to them, the same way Keith feels his imminent death closing up to him. </p><p>But then everything pauses when there’s a tap on the back of Keith’s hand, and Keith looks up to the man he’s clutching to with all his might. </p><p>“It’s alright,” he says, low and soft under the yelling and stomping from the men, “Let go for a bit.” </p><p>The request makes it seem that he gives Keith the permission to hold unto him a moment later, and Keith hopes it’s not to a dead body. He lets go, stepping back when the man moves his arm in front of him, and then everything Keith sees is blurry. He could blame it in the alcohol if he didn’t have only two beers, just enough to make him feel warm from inside, but not enough to imagine that the man that saved him from the drunk —now passed out on the ground— is entirely kicking the mob’s asses.  </p><p>As he said, it’s very blurry, but there’s times when he can see the man appear on one side to punch one in the gut and the next blink is on the other side of the alley kicking someone else in the face. And the moment the mob is quick enough, or smart enough, to strike him at the same time, the man doesn’t even blink. </p><p>Keith can’t believe it. </p><p>“That’s it!” one of them suddenly say from behind him, and Keith sees him pull out a knife. </p><p>“Watch out!” he yells, fear and adrenaline rushing in his veins, just when the man attacks him with the knife, but his savior turns right before it stabs him, elbowing him in the jaw, “Oh.” </p><p>Their eyes meet for half a second, and Keith can swear they are in a gold shade. </p><p>As quick as the fight started, it suddenly came to an end. Keith feels he passed it in a trance, snapping back to reality the moment the last of the men fell to the ground with a strained grunt. </p><p>“Oh,” he let out, his literal savior standing in the middle of the groaning men in the dark alley. </p><p>“Are you hurt?” the man asked, and Keith shook his head, too rattled to talk. </p><p>This man just knocked unconscious six men and he’s not even sweating. </p><p>“<em>Are you</em>?” Keith asks, because that’s just impossible. </p><p>“I’m alright,” he assures, with a smile that Keith thinks he has seen somewhere else, “Now, would you like me to walk you home or...?” </p><p>“N-no, I-” Keith stuttered, watching him start to walk towards him, “It’s okay. Thank-” </p><p>Suddenly, he saw him sway and stumble, his hands opening to his sides as if he could just stop himself from falling with nothing more than air in his reach. </p><p>“Woah!” Keith said, palms facing him, wanting to stop his fall even from afar, and the man laughed softly, brow furrowed, “Are you sure you’re okay?” </p><p>He saw his throat bob with a hard swallow and Keith really shouldn’t be paying so much attention to his physique. </p><p>“I- Yeah, yeah,” He chuckled, obviously trying to undermine it, but then he stumbled again. </p><p>And this time Keith was there to catch him. </p><p>It was hard, seeming that the man was at least two times his bulk. But Keith was strong for his limb frame, and he could lower the man to the ground instead of letting him drop. </p><p>“H-hey! What-”  </p><p>That was when he noticed how shallow his breath was, his chest heaving with every gasp and wheeze, and Keith leaned over his face, pressing a hand to his face. </p><p>“Oh, my god, you’re burning up!” he said, feeling his clammy skin hot enough to scald the back of his hand, “You’re running a fever!” </p><p>The man frowned, looking disoriented for a second, and when his once-again gray eyes met Keith’s blue ones, a faint smile curved the corner of his lips, cheeks growing rosy and floof of hair sticking to his forehead. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful.” </p><p>Keith’s eyes widened, one of the man’s hand reaching for Keith’s face, but before he could touch his cheek, it dropped limp, his eyes fluttering close and his head hanging to a side. Keith stared at him, stunned, mouthing around words he could not even say. </p><p>“Fuck.” </p><p>He flinched when one of the unconscious men groaned behind them, and Keith realized he couldn’t stay there just waiting for his savior to wake up or for the men to wake up and try to hurt them again. Or for more drunk imbeciles to try something against his will.  </p><p>It was too risky. </p><p>“I feel like I’m going to regret this,” Keith muttered. </p><p>It was almost 4:30 a.m. when Keith finally kicked open his apartment door. He grunts, pulling the man inside from his grip in his armpits, and he hisses when thumps his head against the doorway. </p><p>“Shit,” he hisses, shaking his head and pulling harder, finally getting him completely inside. </p><p>He rushed to close the door and lock it, not even worried to check if his nosey neighbor was looking through the curtains of his window, and then exhaled heavily, perching his hands on his hips and looking down at the feverish man he just pulled from a dark alley after seeing him fight six men —and <em>win</em>— with his bare hands. </p><p>He was still unconscious, chest going up and down in breaths much calmer and deeper. Still his skin was still clammy and hot to the touch. Keith sighed, walking up towards his head to at least pull him to the couch, he wouldn’t be such a good host if he leaves his guest on the floor. </p><p>“Not like I’ve invited him in,” Keith murmurs to himself, crouching behind him and once again slipping his hands down his shoulder blades and into his armpits to pull him up, “Not like he has a choice, either way.” </p><p>The man didn’t have an ID on him —which, weird— or his phone —which, uh, <em>weirder</em>— and Keith really didn’t want to call an ambulance because it was very sketchy for him to be in a dark alley with a bunch of unconscious, punched-in-the face guys, or the police, because it would drag too much attention and maybe it would put them both in danger. The cops could’ve help them, of course, but it was most likely it would get them into trouble instead helping them at all. </p><p>So that’s why he opted to drag the man for two blocks through dark alleys and three stories up the stairs to his apartment. </p><p>It was stupid to bring a stranger to his home, he was well-aware. His mother always reminded him how dangerous strangers could really be, which could’ve worked if Keith was still 7 years old and not 16, when they found each other again. But he understands the sentiment.  </p><p>Either way there’s not much an unconscious man who saved him from so many people could do against him. </p><p>Especially when he’s, <em>well</em>, unconscious. </p><p>Keith just figures he can take care of him for a few hours, at least until he wakes up and gives Keith his name and he can assess if he needs to go to the hospital or not. He knows medical bills are hell when emergencies are not as urgent as they seem to be, and he hopes the man thinks the same way when Keith explains it to him. </p><p>He puffs out a blow of air when he finally has him settled in his rattly couch, feet dangling from the armrest because he’s much larger than his two-seat couch, and he drops his ass in his coffee table, staring at his face for a long time, and his mind unhelpfully supplies how hot this stranger is. </p><p>Keith shakes his head, trying to clear his head. No, Keith, being saved is just a powerful aphrodisiac. Or so he tells himself.  </p><p>He lets his eyes fall on the man’s face once again, studying him and trying to be more analytic and unbiased. Yes, he is handsome, with a strong square jaw, slightly-open plush pink lips and eyelashes so long Keith is kind of jealous. His eyes are gorgeous, too, of a gray so light Keith feels them almost silver, and the way his voice rumbled out of his chest, deep and soft, makes Keith squirm in his place just by remembering it. His body is not so bad either, and if Keith can judge, his somewhat baggy clothes don’t really hide how packed he is.  </p><p>Keith shivers at the memory of squeezing his bicep, his hand barely covering half of it. He’s sure his thighs are as hard, and Keith would die a happy man being crushed by them. </p><p>He coughs, looking away when his eyes go upper, the sight of just <em>something</em> tucked to the left crease of his thigh, and<em> ohmygod what did I just looked at? </em> </p><p>He stands, awkwardly shuffling in his feet, and then decides it’s better to get his guest some water, maybe some Advil, and probably a wet cloth he could put on his forehead to try and recede the fever. </p><p>Keith starts for the kitchen, repeating those three things to himself, and tries not to distract himself with filthy thoughts. He finds a clean glass somewhere in the counter and fills it to the brim with tap water, then turns to search in his medicine cabinet if he still has Advil or maybe some paracetamol. He takes both boxes when he figures maybe it’s better to have options. Then he searches for a cloth that isn’t the oil-stained kitchen rag or the one he uses for the bathroom sometimes, and decides to use some paper towels instead. </p><p>He returns to the living room almost juggling with the stuff, and settles the glass of water in the table before sitting down beside it and letting the pills drop to his lap. He murmurs a quiet, ‘shit’ when the wet paper towel falls on his knee, damping is pants, and struggles a bit to grab it without breaking it, finally putting it on the man’s forehead gently. </p><p>Some of the water from it runs over his skin, though, and Keith worries that might wake him up or make him get sicker, so he’s quick to brush the drops with the edge of his jacket sleeve, going over his temple, down the side of his face and to his cheek. </p><p>He pauses, though, when there’s something in in the crest of it that looks of a lighter shade of his color skin. Keith tilts his head, and he can’t help himself from rubbing it a bit more. It looks like the end of a scar, hidden below make-up, and Keith carefully brushes his skin, methodically following the whiter line that crosses raggedly over his nose and finishes on the other side of his face. </p><p>He pauses, blinking down at him, and reaches for the longer bangs of black hair, pushing it away from his face. </p><p>Weird. He looks oddly familiar, but Keith’s not sure from where. And the way he had covered his scar with make-up feels oddly suspicious and sketchy. Like he wanted to blend in with the crowd instead of standing out.  </p><p>It’s <em>very</em> weird. Maybe Keith should’ve been more careful with this. </p><p>The ringtone from his phone breaks the quiet silence, and when he checks the screen, he rolls his eyes, tapping the answer button. </p><p>“Hey, mom,” he says, standing up and walking to the kitchen. </p><p>“Kit, it’s been more than two hours since Kolivan told me you got out of his bar,” she started, her voice tight, “I've been calling you nonstop and you didn’t even see my texts!” </p><p>Keith frowns, lowering his phone to see the notifications, and the 18 missed calls and 43 texts have him wincing. </p><p>“Oh,” Keith says over the phone, and he hears his mom sighing. </p><p>“Are you okay?” she asks, “Where have you been?” </p><p>“Uh,” Keith mumbles, looking over his shoulder to the man on his couch, and sighing, “I took a long walk home, mom. I’m fine.” </p><p>“I’ve told you to call me every time you go out. The streets are very dangerous these days.” </p><p>“I- uh, I know, mom,” he sighed, “But I’m okay.” </p><p>“Don’t scare me like that again.” </p><p>Keith stays silent, the tremble on his mother’s voice clenching his heart, and he drops his gaze to the floor, swallowing. </p><p>He knows how awful it was for her mother to know about what happened to Keith’s dad. How he didn’t reply any of her texts and calls for weeks because his phone was still working even after the fire. How it was too late for her to learn about the accident and try to find Keith when he was only a child that had been dropped to the system when there was no one to take care of him. </p><p>It had been hard on Keith, and Keith knows from the weariness on his mom’s eyes and the worry in her voice, and the frantic way she had run to him when they finally found each other again, that it had been hard on her, too. </p><p>There’s a lot she doesn’t tell to him, but he can read between the lines. </p><p>'What if you were in danger and I didn’t know?’ </p><p>‘I don’t want to lose you one more time.” </p><p>‘I don’t want to lose you, too.’ </p><p>“I’m sorry, mom,” he whispers, staring at the sink of his kitchen, and he hears her take a deep breath. </p><p>“It’s fine, Kit,” she murmurs, her voice thready and soft, “It’s just been such a change ever since you left town and- I'm sorry. I know you’re an adult and you’re capable of anything. But I still worry.” </p><p>Keith smiles, nodding. </p><p>“I know, mom,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry.” </p><p>“It’s okay, Kit.” </p><p>“You should be sleeping, mom,” he says, and she sighs. </p><p>“You should, too.” </p><p>He smiles, the pang of fondness pulling the strings of his heart. </p><p>“Good night.” </p><p>“Good night, kit. Love you.” </p><p>“Love you.” </p><p>He hangs up, and he stares at his notifications, frowning deeply while scrolling down the texts and missed calls. </p><p>“Jesus,” he laughs, breathless, “Guess my paranoia comes from you.” </p><p>He huffs, sending a quick text to her, and then he notices he’s not alone in the kitchen. </p><p>“Wha-” </p><p>His back is to the wall, cracking under his weight and punching out the air from his lungs, and he coughs, falling to his knees to the floor and his phone clattering away. </p><p>“Where am I?” the man’s voice rumbles from above him, and Keith forces himself to look up the scuffed boots in front of him, hand over his chest to try and recover his breath, “Where have you brought me?” </p><p>It’s even harder to breathe when his eyes meet golden ones, white floof of hair shining over his forehead instead from the raven strands Keith brushed away from his face just a few minutes ago. </p><p>“I-I-” Keith wheezes, and the man crouches, making him scramble away and thump his nape against the wall, “I-” </p><p>The gold eyes study him, burrow deeply scrunched to the extent of wrinkling the scar over his nose. Keith feels his spirit abandon his body when the scar, summed up with the white hair and gold eyes, make him recognize him. </p><p>“Y-you’re Black Lion,” he mumbles, voice shaky and tight, “Oh, my god, I brought Black Lion to my house.” </p><p>Black Lion narrows his eyes at him, tilting his head, giving Keith a <em>very good look of his jaw and ohmygod Black Lion is in his kitchen</em>- </p><p>It's not like Keith is a fan, or worse, <em>a fanboy</em>, but Black Lion still is like a celeberity and it makes him feel dizzy.</p><p>“Wait,” he whispers, hand reaching for Keith’s face, “You’re...” </p><p>Keith flinches away, closing his eyes when he thinks he’s about to receive another strike —his shoulder hurts horribly due to the first already— but his breath shakily escapes from his wobbling lips when calloused fingers cradle his cheek, impossibly gentle. Keith blinks his eyes open, tears trapped in his lashes, and he looks at him, still gasping from air. </p><p>“You’re the guy from the dark alley,” Black Lion muses, mostly talking to himself, but Keith nods, frantic, “You were attacked.” </p><p>Keith gulps, nodding again. </p><p>“Y-yeah,” he stutters out, and Black Lion stares at him, “Y-you saved me.” </p><p>Black Lion hums, brow falling deeper over his eyes in thought, and Keith gasps when his finger grazes the corner of his mouth. </p><p>“I did save you,” he mutters, and Keith gulps, Black Lion’s golden eyes following the movement down his throat, “What’s your name?” </p><p>Keith mouths, still struck with astonishment, because is Black Lion —the actual Black <em>Fucking</em> Lion— interested in him? Flirting with him? </p><p>He’s not proud of how hot and bothered that makes him feel, especially after pretending for so long to hate this guy's guts. </p><p>“I-I- My name?” </p><p>“Hm, yeah?” Black Lion prompts, leaning over his space, eyeing Keith’s lips like it’s the most delicious treat he has ever seen, “Your name. Unless you don’t want me to know.” </p><p>And, <em>god</em>, does he want him to know? Keith absolutely wants him to know. He wants him to say his name. </p><p>“I-” he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, “K-keith. My name’s Keith.” </p><p>Black Lion hums, soft and deep, and Keith wants to drown in that sound. </p><p>“Keith,” he pronounces, the single word rolling from his tongue so sweetly Keith shivers, “Nice to meet you, Keith.” </p><p>Keith takes a shuddering breath, mouthing like a fish out of the water. </p><p>“I- Yeah. N-nice to meet you.” </p><p>Black Lion smiles, a world-crumbling, universe-shattering curve in the corner of his mouth, and Keith questions himself how the hell could he hate someone so <em>hot</em>. </p><p>“Keith,” he says —Keith really doesn’t want to get used to the fluttery heat on his stomach that causes him to hear his name from Black Lion’s lips, “If I may ask.” </p><p>Keith nods, wanting him to continue, and he tenses when Black Lion leans closer, eyes dropping to his lips. </p><p>“Y-yeah?” Keith prompts when Black Lion just pauses for a longer time than expected, making it hard to breath with how intense his eyes are on him, “What...” </p><p>Then there’s a thumb on his lower lip, pushing it down softly. The touch makes Keith quiver, his hands balling up to fists to keep himself still. Black Lion stares at his mouth and Keith prays he likes what he sees. </p><p>“Could I kiss you?” Black Lion murmurs, private and secretive, “I’ve wanted since before.” </p><p>Keith feels his blood rush north and south. </p><p><em>Before</em> probably being when he told Keith he was beautiful just a second from passing out, hand halfway to hold his face. </p><p>“I-” Keith whispers, gaze dropping to Black Lion’s mouth. </p><p>Keith’s never one to think twice before acting. He’s always had problems because he gets pushed by his instincts more than listening to head. Right now, his mind is repeating him how much he hates Supers. How much they’ve made him suffer from their mistakes and indifference. How much they only pretend to care when in reality they really don’t care about them as people; just as profit. His head reminds him that none of them are real, that none of them speak truth and their smiles and kind words are fake. </p><p>But being saved is a powerful aphrodisiac, and this man right here —this Super that Keith had never got the nerves to actually hate; Black Lion— is the hottest man he has ever seen in real life. </p><p>“Please,” he murmurs, and the tiny smile Black Lion gives him is enough to have Keith completely <em>gone</em>. </p><p>“Good,” he whispers, just before closing the distance and pressing his lips to Keith’s. </p><p>The touch is incredibly soft, just a brush before their lips meet properly. Keith lets out a soft sound, and feels himself being pressed against the wall, the hand Black Lion doesn’t have holding his face, tilting it to his preference and deepening the kiss, finding place in Keith’s shoulder and then down his chest, fingers splaying over his pec through the jacket Keith didn’t take off when arriving home. His breath hitches when the hand on his jaw slides down his neck, thumb caressing over his Adam’s apple, and beneath the jacket, palm squeezing gently over his pec and thumbing his nipple over the shirt. </p><p>Keith trembles, mouth opening in another gasp, and Black Lion finds his way inside his mouth with a hot tongue, licking his palate and behind his teeth. Keith holds unto him, taking whatever this man gives, yielding in shaky moans everything that this man takes from him. </p><p>It’s something near a religious experience. Keith feels his soul ascend higher with every touch and kiss and caress that the Black Lion delivers, and it’s not long when Keith starts to feel his jeans getting tight. He whines when Black Lion’s hands catch his hips, stopping them from rolling against him, and then Black Lion is cradling over Keith, finding place between his thighs and pulling Keith’s arms around his wide shoulders. Arousal burns in his veins, and he tries to pull Black Lion down onto him.  </p><p>Keith kisses him more urgently, more fiercely, and the moment Black Lion lets out something similar to a whine, Keith feels himself about to burst. He lifts one foot, perching it around Black Lion’s lower back, and when he feels the hardness growing —and <em>rubbing</em>— against his own, he moans loudly. </p><p>“B-black Lion-” </p><p>“Takashi,” Black Lion says, mouth trailing down his cheek and nipping the corner of his jaw, “Call me Takashi.” </p><p>“Takashi,” Keith breathes, arching his neck to let him kiss him there, “Takashi...” </p><p>Black Lion— <em>Takashi</em> hums against his throat, and Keith’s hips stutter. </p><p>“Takashi,” he repeats. </p><p>“Keith,” Takashi murmurs, “God, you’re so-” </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>His lips stop for a second in the juncture on his shoulder, breath hot and wet, and Keith frowns at the ceiling, suddenly feeling that name ring a bell. </p><p>“Takashi Shirogane,” he says, a face he hasn’t remembered for years jumping up to the front of his mind. Black Lion freezes, “Shiro.” </p><p>He hears his throat click with a hard gulp, and then he’s slowly pulling away, golden eyes long gone and leaving grey irises staring at Keith in shock.  </p><p>And then Keith can see it. Keith can <em>recognize</em> him. Keith can see in his eyes the little boy he had met when he was only 6 and with life much tougher than most adults three times his age. He wasn’t the only one, though, and Keith can remember the boy he spent time with at the orphanage, at school, at the park the foster home let them go. Keith can see his black hair growing white in a bowl cut and scrapped knees. Keith can remember the kindness on his smile and the even more present sweetness on his eyes despite losing both his parents in an accident and being left on his own. </p><p>He was only a few years older than Keith, but Keith felt like they were connected the moment they met each other. He was Keith’s best friend. He was his <em>only</em> friend. And Keith had grown fond of him, they had grown close despite how helpless Keith would feel if he left him, too. Keith had left himself be vulnerable with him, crying in his shoulder when nightmares of fires and the cackle of scorching heat would wake him up in the middle of the night. Shiro had been the one Keith had hold onto. Shiro had held him back like he would protect him from everything. </p><p>But then he had been adopted, because he had been a good, smart kid with a future, unlike Keith that always started fights and learned to growl instead of talk. </p><p>He had been gone from Keith’s life, just a flickering piece of light in his dark night sky.  </p><p>Keith had resented him from leaving him alone. </p><p>“Shiro,” he repeats, the word odd to be said after so many years, the nickname weird to call someone he hasn’t seen for years, even weirder when the person in front of him, owner of said nickname, is no one else than Black Lion, “You’re Shiro.” </p><p>There’s recognition in his silver eyes, frown growing deep. </p><p>“Keith,” he says, blinking repeatedly like he can’t believe it, like Keith would disappear from one blink to another and he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t, “Keith Kogane.” </p><p>Keith opens his mouth, not even knowing what he was about to say, but then Shiro pulls away, standing to his feet and starting to pace. Keith suddenly feels cold. </p><p>“Fuck,” Shiro murmurs with sentiment, hand going up his forehead and pushing his white bangs away from his eyes, “Oh, <em>fuck</em>.” </p><p>“What?” Keith asks, frowning. </p><p>Shiro turns to him, eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost, as if he had been told all the disgraces in his life and an entire description of how he would die. </p><p>“You know my secret identity,” he whispers, like a haunted man, and Keith feels dread fill his gut. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“You know my secret identity,” he repeats, like the words have another meaning Keith should know. </p><p>“And is that bad?” Keith asks. </p><p>Shiro pauses for a second, blinking, and Keith starts to stand up. </p><p>“If it worries you that I’ll tell, I won’t,” Keith assures, moving his shoulder and making it crack, “<em>Oh, god</em>.” </p><p>Shiro’s eyes fall to where Keith grips his arm, and steps closer. </p><p>“Did I hurt you?” he asks, hand reaching for it but stopping in the air between them. </p><p>Keith stares at it, then up to Shiro, in the way he hunches and tilts to try and look smaller, to look submissive.  </p><p>“I’m fine,” Keith says, and Shiro looks into his eyes, gray flashing gold for a second, “Has your fever gone down?” </p><p>Shiro blinks, frowning, “I had a fever?” </p><p>Keith sighs, reaching up to press the back of his hand to Shiro’s forehead, and realizes then his temperature has gone down. He smiles, relieved, and when his eyes fall to Shiro’s he realizes how close they are, almost breathing the same air. Shiro has the audacity to blush then, clearing his throat and backing up a step to put some distance between them. It’s almost funny considering that only a few minutes ago he had his tongue down Keith’s throat. </p><p>“Seems you got magically better,” Keith comments with amusement, looking away when he feels his cheeks heat and his ears burn, “Something Super happening on you, huh?” </p><p>Shiro gulps, gaze still on the floor, and Keith frowns, worried. </p><p>“Hey-” </p><p>“No one can know,” he says suddenly, and Keith can see his hands tight in fists on his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking with the movement, “No one can know I’m Black Lion, Keith.” </p><p>Keith nods, and steps closer. </p><p>“I won’t say anything, Shiro,” he assures, voice steady despite the swirl of emotions he’s having right now, the reality of everything catching up to him, “I swear, okay? Your secret is safe with me.” </p><p>Shiro bits his lip, still blinking at the floor. Keith hates how concerned he is, how afraid he looks. </p><p>“Hey,” Keith repeats, trying to look him in the eyes but Shiro avoids it, “It’s okay. I won’t tell, yeah? Don’t worry.” </p><p>Shiro stays silent, eyes going back and forth, and then he gazes over to Keith, looking awfully vulnerable. </p><p>“You won’t?” he asks, voice tiny. </p><p>“I won’t,” Keith says. </p><p>Shiro looks away, nodding, and Keith swallows, stepping closer. </p><p>“Hey,” Keith calls for him again, “Shiro.” </p><p>To his surprise, Shiro huffs a laugh. </p><p>“It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that,” he confesses, eyes finding Keith’s easily, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Keith breathes. </p><p>“You- uh,” Shiro looks away, his cheeks tinting pink, to Keith’s shock, “You look good.” </p><p>“Oh,” Keith exhales, feeling his heart race, “Uh, thanks.” </p><p>“Considering I had my tongue down your throat a few minutes ago,” Shiro tries to joke, but the sentence ends flat and his face just reddens even more, the scar over his nose stark-white against his blush, “I-I mean- When I was- well, uh- What I meant was-” </p><p>“I got it,” Keith snorts, looking away and remembering how good Shiro’s lips felt against his, how <em>good</em> it was to have him on his body, “I- Yeah, I was there.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Shiro blurts out, taking a breath, “I- uh, sorry for-” </p><p>He gestures Keith’s shoulder and Keith shrugs it, containing a wince when it pulls painfully in the joint. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Keith murmurs, “Just a scratch.” </p><p>He smiles at Shiro —at <em>Black Lion</em>—, and looks away when Shiro’s gaze drops to his mouth. He hears him clear his throat. </p><p>“I should go,” he says, and Keith feels his stomach drop. </p><p>“Yeah,” Keith agrees without actually meaning it. </p><p>They walk to the door, in hesitant steps and a safe —safe?— distance between them. Keith opens the door and Shiro shuffles awkwardly between Keith and the wall to step out, and when Keith looks up at him from the close distance, he realizes Shiro has his unmistakable scar very visible. </p><p>“Wait,” he says, and Shiro half turns to him, frowning, “Um.” </p><p>He gestures to Shiro’s face, and Shiro’s eyes widen in understanding. </p><p>“Oh,” he breathes, fingers going up to his face and looking around the hallway, which is luckily empty at 5 a.m. on a Sunday, “Um, do you have make-up?” </p><p>Keith opens his mouth and shakes his head. </p><p>“Oh,” Shiro says again, burrow down over his eyes in concern, “Okay...” </p><p>“Here,” Keith is quick to say, pulling off the scarf he has around his neck and approaching to put it on his shoulders, “It will work at least until you reach home.” </p><p>Keith is careful to put it around his face, high enough to cover half is face, and when silver eyes catch his he pauses, feeling overwhelmed. </p><p>“There,” he murmurs, stepping away again —safe distance, remember? “You’re ready.” </p><p>He thinks Shiro nods, and after he hears him clear his throat again, he sees him walk down the hallway. </p><p>Keith stares at the back of his head, waiting for him to turn, to give him one last glance, but Shiro steps down the stairs without looking back. </p><p>Keith regrets not asking for explanation. For how Shiro became one of the most powerful Super Heros in a city as big as this one. For the story of how that scar marked his face or why his hair has turned all white when he’s just barely 28. </p><p>Keith regrets not asking for his number. To keep in touch. To have a new opportunity to continue the tight relationship they had when children. </p><p>Keith regrets not kissing him more. Not kissing him one more time. Not stopping him from walking away. </p><p>Keith doesn’t regret opening his door to frantic knocks two weeks later in the middle of the night, Shiro’s battered body falling to his arms with blood falling from open wounds and skin sticky with sweat and mud. </p><p>“K-keith,” he barely says, <em>wheezes</em>, “W-we have to go.” </p><p>Keith doesn’t understand why, or to where. </p><p>But he follows. </p><p>The same way he always wanted to when Shiro walked away from his life and the same way he wanted those two weeks ago. </p><p>“Yeah. Okay.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story is part of the <a href="https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject">LLF Comment Project</a> (including the <a href="https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder">LLF Comment Builder</a>), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:</p><ul>
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</ul><p>This author replies to comments.</p><p>If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!</p><p>~</p><p>Come and yell with me on <a href="https://twitter.com/ulqueleh">Twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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